Air 12
by Elena George
Summary: Sharon is shot down in Air 12 above the Angeles National Forest.


**Air 12**

Sharon was vaguely aware that she thought she heard breathing, heavy breathing, through the palpable darkness. Her eyes refused to open on command. Then it was just all gone, utterly dark again. Later, she was aware of the breathing and moaning. Then it was just all gone, utterly dark again. Later, the sound of rushing wind added to her sense of her surroundings. Then it was just all gone, utterly dark again.

Near morning, just as the clouds begin to become colored with wild hues of purple, orange, red, and pink, Sharon eased an eye open. Never one to drink too much, she imagined that this surely must be what a hangover felt like. Her eyes stung and head ached, and there was a funny taste in her mouth. She was thirsty and hungry. _Oh, for a cup of tea_ _and one of Rusty's omelets_ , she thought.

She was held in place by web belts, partially suspended on the back bench of Air 12 which was resting in the trees in the Angeles National Forest. Her head rested on her shoulder to the left side. She listened hard without moving a muscle. The helicopter swayed gently with her inside like a cradle. The motion was pleasant enough, she thought as she gathered her wits, but all her instincts screamed otherwise. She just wanted to go back to sleep, but something told her she needed to wake up and get moving. The moaning had ceased hours ago. Gently, she swiveled each foot then each wrist. Everything but her head felt somewhat normal. _Must be caffeine withdrawal_ , Sharon thought of the headache.

The helicopter was suspended in the branches more than one hundred feet off the ground at an odd angle, down and left by the bow. The locator beacon had yet to alert those who were searching for the presumed wreckage. Air 12 had not crashed as much as it had come to a rest in the tree tops then ever so slowly was descending to the ground as branches gave way under the weight.

"Butch," Sharon called the pilot's name. "Butch!" Her neck was protesting after lying on her own shoulder overnight. Gently she rubbed her neck and shoulders.

She could barely make out his limp form in front of her. Butch had been just tall enough to reach the required 60 inches of arm span needed to fly the helicopter. Beyond that, Butch was simply a short and slightly-built, gentle man. Butch made no response. Sharon had to think hard for the name of the spotter who sat in front next to Butch. Her head now felt as if it would explode. Never in her life had she experienced such a headache. It demanded her full focus that she was unwilling to yield.

"Dear God, get us out of here," she muttered while thinking a concussion was the probable diagnosis. She had slept the night away, too. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought perhaps she should have fought harder to stay awake. Wasn't that what you did with concussed people?

"Duncan," she called out to the spotter. "Duncan, was that you moaning all last night? Duncan?"

Duncan wasn't moving either. In the flight boots she had been given to go with the green flight coveralls, she was not as tall as on her heels. Before unlatching the restraint system, she looked over the oddly tilted floor of the airship for a place for her feet to go. The contents that lacked restraint lay scattered all around the interior. She located the First Aid kit which was bolted to the bulkhead behind her. It had a bullet hole in it that was not there earlier when they left. There was another large metal box bolted to the decking behind Butch's seat. She had tried to rest her feet on it in flight, but it was just too far away from her seat. There was no way to reach the box to check contents unless she was free from the seat restraints.

The last thing she needed was to slip and injure anything else. Fortunately, her glasses had remained on her face, tucked under the helmet. With a deep breath, Sharon slipped the restraints open and slid along the back deck to the bulkhead of the port side. She managed to find a way to move around the clutter. The helo dropped a few more feet closer to earth as her weight shifted within the cabin. As it shifted, she latched on to Duncan's seat and held on for dear life. Then it settled into a new odder angle.

The first thing she noted was the gaping hole in Butch's head. That explained the bullet hole in the First Aid kit. The investigator went to work looking for the bullet trajectory. It must have ricocheted off Butch or his head rest, barely missing where she'd been seated during the flight. Butch was long gone. She thanked God for sparing her life.

Duncan's body was cooling and going into rigor mortis. He had taken a bullet through his chest that tracked to the back bulkhead several feet from where Sharon had been seated. It must have been Duncan who had been moaning off and on as Sharon had struggled to awaken all though the night. The holes indicated small caliber rounds, likely a .22. While many scoff at the small size of the .22 round, Sharon knew that they could take a life just as quickly as any other larger round. The .22 round tended to ricochet and bounce around inside the victim. It also could carry a long distance because it was so small.

Football and Dodger baseball, not flying had been her sports passions, so she gazed at the instruments to no avail. Sharon quietly wished for Mike Tao's encyclopedic knowledge of just about everything. Nothing looked like a radio amid the smashed and not-smashed cockpit panel. The forward portion of the aircraft had taken the brunt of the impact with the trees. She could make out shattered parts of propellers above and below her.

Her head throbbed even as her eyes were playing tricks on her. She'd squeeze them as tightly as she could only to have clear vision, even with glasses, for only a moment or two. This was certainly not caffeine withdrawal. What was there that she could work with to extricate herself from the wounded aircraft? And how had the helo come to this state? Sharon remembered so little of the crash or what had preceded it. She just instinctively knew she needed to get out of it before that last bough broke and sent it to the forest floor, perhaps in a fireball.

Andy, Buzz, and Rusty paced the area near the command post. Rusty was writing a story on the exercise for the UCLA student newspaper. Lt Provenza and Deputy Chief Fritz Howard had thrown Rusty and Andy out of the tent a while ago. Their time in the tent lasted until Andy yelled about why there was no distress beacon one too many times. Buzz was outside trying to keep both Rusty and Andy somewhat grounded in reality. Chief Russell Taylor drove up in time to see Rusty pacing back and forth.

"Any news?" he asked Buzz.

Buzz responded, "Nothing yet, sir. The transponder was not activated. Air 8 and Air 13 are running a grid search at their last known location. Air 8 and Air 13 dropped off Chief Howard and Lt Flynn before the refueled and started the search."

"Buzz, play me the recording," Taylor requested as he and Buzz entered the tent together. "How could an exercise between agencies so quickly devolve into a missing police airship?"

It's was Duncan's voice they heard, "Air 12 under attack! Green laser. Red tracer rounds."

The background noise was that of the helo banking this way and that to evade being hit by small arms ground fire.

"We're hit. We're hit. Going down, going..." then nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Taylor examined the Angeles National Forest map in front of him. The grids were neatly laid out in light blue "chalk" lines. Other lines ran horizontally through each gird as the searchers reported back. Thoroughly searched areas were marked off in red. Nothing had turned up so far.

"Chief!" Taylor bellowed at Fritz Howard who was running the incident. "Where are we so far?"

"Using FLIR, Forward Looking Infrared Radar," began Lt Tao, "we had hoped to catch the exercise party hidden on the ground. Air 8 in which Andy was flying was searching this area," Mike motioned to the right hand side of the map. "Air 13 with Chief Howard flew was working this pattern and Air 12 was assigned this section of the Forest..."

The radio crackled to life, "Air 13. Spotted something in the trees. We are descending to get a better look."

Tense moments passed, "Air 13. Somebody's shooting at us, too."

Taylor grabbed the mic, "Evacuate the area now!"

Andy had come back inside, "You can't do that! Sharon's still out there!"

"Lieutenant, don't you think I know that!" Taylor retorted. "But I can't lose another airship and crew. This whole operation has gone all kinds of sideways!"

Sharon heard the helo passing overhead. Her hopes for quick rescue swelled. The gunshots just as quickly dashed those hopes as bullets ranged toward Air 13, rattling past the leaves that held Air 12 aloft. She tried to make herself as small as possible to avoid being hit should a stray round penetrate Air 12. She very much desired to see Rusty and Andy again.

Then she began to remember what had happened, why Butch and Duncan were dead, and the crash. In the late evening, they were executing a mass drill involving three counties and the LEOs from all the cities, counties, and the state. They were to learn how to coordinate and cooperate before something really bad happened. The routine drill occupied the efforts of LAPDs Major Crimes and Special Operations sections to see how well they could communicate and direct efforts if ever terrorists attacked the city and escaped into the wilderness areas nearby. Under ordinary circumstances, coordination was not always smooth as each department wanted "its fair share." If money was involved, Sharon knew that all the fingers would reach out and take some. Still, it make perfectly good sense in light of current world affairs to get all the area's law enforcement assets onto one page. Flynn, Howard, and Raydor went in the air to direct and coordinate efforts and serve as off-side spotters even as the Park Service moved tourists out of the park. Provenza refused to fly, so it was Andy who took his place.

Air 12 was on its assigned search area as night fell. The FLIR should have been most useful in finding heat sources within the forest which had been evacuated of its tourists. Raydor looked down on the forest, having been instructed on what people look like as opposed to deer, bear, and a host of other large mammals looked like on the screen. Her first few minutes were just the tiniest bit confusing, but she soon began to process the different heat signatures.

Sharon recalled spotting what looked to be people below them under the tree canopies. They were bunched tightly together, making it difficult to "see" how many there were. She fully expected that they were the designated villains for the exercise. There were three SWAT officers on the ground playing the "bad guys." _Now, this is so easy_ , she thought.

They had rolled back around for Duncan to confirm her sighting. The people below suddenly took exception to the helo's presence and opened fire. It came rushing back like a B-movie nightmare. It was a good bet, she thought that the same men were shooting at another LAPD airship. Sharon remembered Duncan's last radio transmission which would have alerted the rest of the team to the problem. She also hoped that her presence in the tree-bound chopper had gone unnoticed by the shooters but seen by the flying helo before it banked away and left the scene in a hurry.

Below her, Sharon could make out the sound of an ATV crashing through the underbrush. For the moment, she decided to stay put and wait for rescue. Climbing down in the early morning blush of first light might be more hazardous than just sitting tight. As she waited for more light, she pulled out some First Aid supplies. She was thankful for all the wonderful pockets her flight suit possessed. They easily swallowed up medical supplies and zipped or velcro'd shut. Next, she explored the box bolted to the floor behind where Butch sat.

"Oooh!" she exclaimed to no one in particular. "Now this is the real treasure trove."

The box's list of contents was posted on the inside of the lid. If she held her head just so and closed one eye, she could read the packing list quite well in the early morning light. It held multiple ropes, thick leather gloves, carabineers, harnesses, and other useful items for fast roping or rappelling off the skid of the helicopter. Sharon also found other basic wilderness tools - shovel, hatchet, machete, knife, small saw, hammer, assorted screwdrivers, and best of all a large black Maglight. She tested the batteries and found the flashlight gave off plenty of light. Fast roping, which looks like simply sliding down the rope quickly, was out of the question. The helicopter was too far off the ground for that simple technique. There was also way too much between her and the ground to make fast roping an option. Rappel it would have to be. She'd done that several times over the course of her career...many years ago. She remembered hating the wall portion. The wall just came up too fast. Rappelling off the skid was not so bad; it was like a gigantic swing on a playground. Her lips gave a tiny smile.

Air 13 returned to the makeshift base to report more specifics on what had just happened to Chief Taylor. They had spotted a large crushed space in the tree canopy but had been unable to circle over it for a better look. They had the rough coordinates of the second attack, so hiking in was an option. Perhaps, Taylor though, he could kill two birds with one stone if he could rescue both the airmen and arrest the criminals who had brought the aircraft down in one act. His mind saw the award ceremony with himself in the center of things.

His reverie was callously interrupted by Andy's voice, "Chief..."

"Yes, Andy?" he looked at Andy.

"Sharon," he began, "we can't just leave her out there. Besides, it's a good bet the asshole idiots are out there in the same general direction. What are we waiting for?"

"A plan, Lieutenant, a plan," Taylor carefully outlined. "This operation went from training exercise to rescue or recover mission when the first shots rang out."

"Hammer and anvil - maybe we can squeeze the shooters into a box that we control," Howard offered as he moved to the search square where the second shooting had transpired. "We know that somebody down there is shooting at the police airship, regardless of who they are or what they've been up to."

Flynn looked at his friend, "Sharon! Think rescue, not recovery. We've got to get her and the other two back alive. And it's a good bet that whoever shot at Air 13 will want to find Air 12 and finish what they started."

Howard and Taylor nodded. Rusty tried his best to keep quiet in the corner of the tent where he could observe without being put back outside. Mike Tao and the rest of the team were beginning to form a plan to flush the bandits out of whatever nest they had created toward the perimeter where massive policing manpower awaited them.

Mike spoke up, "Chiefs, this area where we are guessing everybody is, well, it's pretty rough terrain. There are only a few usable trails that you could take without getting completely lost or fall off into a ravine. The only real way in or out is this dirt road if we're talking a vehicle."

Amy Sykes felt more at home in the field than she did in the Murder Room. Her Army training rose to the top, "Chief, let me propose that we put all the air assets up." Moving her hand across the large map, "If we push in these three directions, we can move them to the road and then into our custody." She pointed at some especially steep terrain, "You'll notice that here is one place they can ill-afford to go..."

Flynn piped in, "You're presuming that they know their way around the forest any better than we do! Besides that, we need to get our people back first and foremost!"

Taylor then looked at Provenza, "Call up the Academy. Get them out here on busses ASAP. We'll use the hammer and anvil technique...and, we'll look for Captain Raydor at the same time. I do not want active shooters to get away so easily in our haste to get the aircrew back." He had surrendered the idea that he'd never see the air asset flying again. If it were flight worthy, surely it would have returned by now. However, on the more positive side, there had been no word of a forest fire started by a crashed chopper.

While she waited, Sharon found and fitted the rappel harness to herself. She did her best to make a man-sized harness fit her woman-sized frame. The harness did not fit properly, but it was the best she could do. She knew that she was not anywhere strong enough to lower her deceased fellow police officers to the ground with the tackle she had in the box. It would simply be a one-way trip out for her.

Her father had been in the OSS in the Second World War before becoming a lawyer and judge, and her brother followed the tradition, making the Army a career as a Ranger. She'd seen countless hours of film of how it was done. Sharon now wished she'd spent more time paying closer attention. That said, doing it herself was quite another challenge. She had no real training. All she had were "flash cards" from the box and the stowed gear. Sharon also had hope and faith.

She gathered the olive green helmet bags from the floor. First she cut off a suitable length of paracord, removed the inner strings, burned the ends to keep them from fraying out, and tied 8-knots in each end. She stashed as much of the contents of the box into the bags and tied them together with the paracord. Sharon unloaded the pistols from her dead colleagues and decocked them. Next she placed the pistols and extra magazines and ammo boxes into one bag. Next, she tied off the head end of the rappel rope on one of the D-rings embedded in the deck of the helo. She tugged it hard to take out any slippage. Surely, she thought, they were in the deck for that purpose or were supposed to tie down mobile boxes of some sort. Whatever their original purpose, she knew D- did not stand for decoration.

With the door open, Sharon tied the gear bags off on the rope above where she connected the rope to the rappel harness around her waist and thighs. For the moment, the filled bags lay on the deck by her. The helicopter shifted a few inches causing her to hold the rope for dear life, reminding her how precariously she was to sudden death. Her feet and legs dangled out the door as she carefully stretched her legs to find the skid. It was a long way down and long way to the skid. So, Sharon turned around backwards, facing the inside of the chopper and sought out the skid below her again. At last her toe found what it was searching for. She inched her way onto the skid. The bowline held the rope fast to the deck ring. as she worked her way all the way out of the chopper.

With her left hand, she held the rope above the harness. Sharon's hands were sweating profusely into the large leather gloves that came nowhere near fitting her hands at all. The gloves, like everything else except the flight suit and boots, had been used many times, serving to make the supple but were fitted for a large man not a petite woman. Her right hand reached for the rest of the rope and cast it over the side and down to the ground. It caught in a branch below and lay coiled in the leaves.

"Dammit," she spit as she flicked the rope this way and that until it disentangled itself from the tree and payed on out. The foliage blocked her view of the ground, so she was hoping that it really had made its way past all the remaining branches. Running into a kink later down could strand her in midair, but it was a chance she had to take. Next, Sharon took the rope with her right hand and wrapped it behind herself. Every so carefully, she let her body ease back until she was perpendicular to the skid. She only got one shot at this, so it'd better be pretty close to perfect. Below were only branches and ground.

"Our Father," Sharon began. "Sorry Mary, I need more than just your help! Who art in Heaven..."

She coiled herself then sprang off the skid into the air finishing her prayer, held only by the rope as gravity did its best to throw her to the ground just as fast as it could. Her body swung well under the helo before finding the center point of the rope and another tree. Grinding noises and a shift in the position of the broken airframe shuddered throughout Sharon's body, sending a fresh rush of adrenalin through her whole body and mind. Her mind told her things she simply did not have time to hear as her right hand eased all the rest of her through the canopy toward the ground. She could feel the helo slipping as her weight with the gear moved down the rope. The initial balance of the helo and human had now been destroyed. Not sure how to fast to move to avoid catastrophe, Sharon slid down the rope making sure not to making any jerking movements in any direction.

Five minutes into her not-so-speedy descend, Sharon rested on the branch that formerly had snagged her rope. She never thought of herself as a tree hugger, but here she grasped the old tree for dear life. Her ragged breathing told her a wider story of how she was doing. She realized that it was her own breathing she'd listened to last night. A large branch stuck out next to her at shoulder height. The tree shuddered as gravity reasserted itself on the wreck above her. She now felt like a cat up a willow tree on a breezy summer day.

The academy sent in 25 trainees to assist Chiefs Taylor and Howard. They formed into a wedge shape and began heading into the woods led by an experienced Park Ranger who knew this area well. Another posse aimed itself at the presumed wreckage site. This one was composed of a variety of local LEOs. The final group, led by Chief Howard, headed straight down the road. This unit had both human and K-9 officers that would attempt to be the center of the hammer, hoping to drive the criminals toward the sheriff's posse at the other end which had the access points out of the park all blocked off. They had also positioned other assets strung out into the brush a mile on either side of normal access points. If they were lucky, one of them might even find Air 12 along the way. A mile behind this final group drove the ambulances along the dirt road.

Air 13 and Air 8 lifted off. By this time, the sheriff's department also had a helicopter in the air. Chief Taylor was hoping that the noise of the choppers would help flush out the criminals or perhaps draw fire allowing the ground assets to locate them more rapidly. Taylor planned to have this all wrapped up by night fall. The last thing he wanted was the complication of crossfire in the dark if it took them until night to end this exercise. He also began to wonder with whom he'd replace Captain Sharon Raydor as head of the Major Crimes Division. It would not be Louie Provenza or Andy Flynn for that matter.

Sharon was rethinking her position on the branch. She pulled off her gloves, stuffing them in the front of the flight suit. Next she unhooked herself from the rope, balancing on the branch below her feet with an elbow over the other branch nearby. The gear hung precariously next to her. Hoping to stabilize her situation, she grabbed the free end of the rope to wrap it around the branch next to where she stood. The bitter end went around the branch three times then back through the carabineer on her harness. Again, she began her descent. This time, the wreck did not move as she slipped down the rope to the next lower branch that gave her a moment's rest. She thought it was more like the "wall" than a "skid." With trees, not only did the solid part move to meet you, but it also would snag you at every opportunity. Even though rappelling was supposed to be quick, Sharon spent a good quarter of an hour to make the full descent between clearing branches in her way and unkinking the rope below her.

Once on the sun-dappled ground, Sharon removed the helmet. No wonder she had a headache. The bullet that had killed Butch had rattled her cage, too. The bullet had entered the helmet and torn across her scalp before exiting into the First Aid kit. Sharon reached up to feel the wound. Her hair was matted with blood, but the spot stung, stabbed, and ached nevertheless. Her fingers told her the injury was probably not life threatening, but still somewhat debilitating. Her hands shook as she looked at her own blood.

"Dammit," she whispered under her breath as she slumped against the tree.

She pulled her loose hair together and began to braid it. Next, Sharon stuffed the gloves into the broken helmet, and untied the packs, pulling out the spare magazines and swapping those out for the medical supplies that rested in her pockets.

The warmth of the summer's rising sun prompted her to pull the flight suit partially off. She tied off the arms like a belt around her waist. The helmet bags were slung over her shoulder like a purse. She wished that cell phones had been permitted on that flight. For then she could have called Andy to let him know she was okay and to have Mike get her GPS location. She could have stayed put and waited for rescue.

As it was, her initial solution had been to incorporate finding the shooter or shooters, taking them into custody, and then hiking out of the forest. However, in light of the head injury, Sharon considered the better alternative was simply to get back to her team. She rooted through the bag for the aerial map and tried to figure out where she was at this moment. Before leaving that spot, Sharon took the helmet, dug a hole, and stuffed them into the hole within the undergrowth. If the shooters came this way, they might see the rope but still not know how many cops they would be facing. Furthermore, they would not know that only one cop lay ahead, and that cop was injured. All she needed to do was find the stream or the road that lay in her area. Her vision remained impaired, making map reading all the more difficult.

Andy knew that if he found Sharon dead or badly injured, that would be hard enough. He did not think that Rusty would be able to take it, so Rusty was left in the command post with Mike Tao. Rusty protested, but Chief Taylor put an end to it, reminding him that he was lucky to be this far forward since he was a civilian. Taylor had considered sending him back to the initial staging point for the exercise. He decided that if Captain Raydor was still alive it would be a better thing for everyone if Rusty were closer than farther away. It would certainly make her easier to deal with if her son were closer.

Rusty asked, "Lt Tao, Mike, what about asking for one of the drones to look for Sharon and her helicopter? I mean, wouldn't that like, give us a better idea where she is?"

"Yes, Rusty, I do believe it would," Tao responded. "Wonder why we did not think of that earlier," he concluded as he reached for the radio to put in that request.

For Mike, it was all about the little details and even if it made the problem harder, about solving that problem in the small, delicate details. Mike loved details. He did not care if he got in trouble adding a new and expensive asset to the mix. He wanted his Captain back as much as anyone else on the team did. He valued her loyalty, incisive mind, and kindness. Most of all, Mike Tao thought of Sharon Raydor as a valued friend.

Sharon staggered in the general direction of the stream. Water was the most important resource to find. If she could find the stream, the road would be an easy find as well. Stumbling and staggering through the undergrowth made finding the stream more than a little difficult. Sharon stopped to lean on a tree and listen for the stream. She closed her eyes and slipped down the tree to the ground. _Cannot quit_ , she told herself.

Sharon pulled herself back up and continued toward the stream. After an hour of walking northward to where the stream should be, she could make out the sounds of running water and gave herself permission to smile just a little bit. By quickening her pace, Sharon made the stream by early afternoon. She dropped her helmet bags on a rock by the stream and knelt to wash her face in the cool, babbling water. Sharon had not realized how thirsty she was until the water splashed her mouth.

 _Doctors fix a lots of things, but raising the dead is not one of them_ , she thought as she drank and drank the refreshing liquid. Sharon rested on her knees, head thrown back to face the sunshine. After a few moments of just resting on her heels in the sun, she opened her eyes again. After washing up a bit more, she reoriented herself on the map. If she headed east along the stream, Sharon figured she could make the road in a few hours before nightfall.

However, shortly after following the stream, Sharon came across the first marijuana plant. It was tucked under the tall trees, yet close enough to the stream to be watered and get enough sun to grow tall. She pulled out the knife and began to slice into the stalk. With persistence and several kicks and stomps, it toppled into the forest floor. Satisfied by her efforts, Sharon moved out along the stream's meandering path to the dirt road on the map. The pot plants grew closer together which bothered Sharon. She knew destroying them one by one with a pocket knife would take her longer than she had allotted to get to the road. Andy, Rusty, and the rest of her team would be worried about her by now. She cleaned off the blade and stuffed it back in her pocket just about the time she heard the sounds of a person coming through the woods toward the stream. She ducked into the brush for a little concealment.

Two men appeared along the bank.

"What the hell?!" exclaimed one as he lifted up one of the destroyed plants.

The other one came to his side and examined the plant himself, "Cops! Must be cops coming after that chopper we shot at last night."

"I dunno," replied the first one scouring the area for signs of police. "I don't see any. Besides, look at this plant..." he headed toward other chopped down plants. "This looks like the work of only one person, not a bunch of cops."

"Yeah," the second one noted as he also started looking for whoever had destroyed their crop. "They don't come out by themselves. And they usually gather the plants to use as evidence."

Sharon knew it was only a matter of time before they found her alone, so may as well get a jump on them while she could. She pulled a sidearm from a pocket, racked the slide, and called out from her no longer hidden spot, "LAPD! Put your hands behind..."

Before she could finish her sentence, the first one rotated his rifle into firing position and shot at her.

He promptly took three rounds to the chest and fell at his buddy's feet. The remaining perp took off splashing across the stream and back into the forest as fast as his feet could take him. Apprehensively, Sharon moved to the collapsed man. She kicked the rifle away before checking for a pulse. He was dead, likely before he even hit the ground.

"Damn," she muttered. "How dare you make me kill you!"

She collected the rifle, slung it over her back, and continued toward the road. Sharon kept looking behind her and around, not knowing if the second man who had run away was going to double back to find her. After all, that made the most sense to her. The confrontation had taken place so quickly and so unexpectedly, Sharon found herself trying to remember every detail of the incident. She now had a much better appreciation for the eyewitnesses she had interviewed through the years. Before bending to drink more water from the stream, she carefully looked around.

The second perp flew out of the brush with speed and dexterity that Sharon had certainly not anticipated. He had doubled back on her. He quickly gained the upper hand and struck Sharon's head on the ground hard twice, and she reeled under the blows. Placing both hands on her neck, he began to choke the life out of her. With her left hand Sharon fought to free herself while her right hand reached into her pocket. The pocket knife flicked open quietly and easily, locking into place. She could feel the click more than hear it as her eyes began to grow dim. Three quick deliveries left him reeling instead. He fell backwards, grasping his side as blood poured out of his belly. Still on his knees, he looked at the blood gushing out with shock and dismay. Sharon rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled away from him. At a safe distance, she pulled out the pistol from the pocket and pointed it at the man who had just mauled her.

"LAPD!" she managed to say hoarsely, gun at the high-ready position, "On your face. Now!" Sharon extended the firearm in his direction.

His compliance was a fall to his face, hands under his now lifeless body. Sharon rested on her knees and heels, still gasping for air. Then she folded into the ground a few yards away.

The K-9 officers caught the scent of human fear and panic up ahead. The short exchange of gunfire had given them a better direction. The handler let the dogs run. Ten minutes later the rest of the posse arrived to find the dog barking his head off and two people slumped on the ground. Andy broke rank to hurry to Sharon whose silent form lay before him. A few yards off lay the first perp that Sharon had shot to death.

"Sharon! Sharon!" he called as he ran.

Ever so gently, Andy rolled Sharon's body to face him. He brushed her loose curls and matted hair away from her face and reached to find a carotid pulse. When he found it, he gathered her closer to himself and rocked the two of them back and forth. Both the knife and gun lay on the ground just under where Sharon was curled up.

"I was so afraid I'd lost you," he wept into her neck.

Sharon was roused to consciousness, "I'm okay," she mumbled.

Andy started to lift her into his arms, meaning to carry her back to the ambulance which waited not far away on the road. Sharon shook her head no and started to get up. Both Andy and Julio helped her to her feet and headed back toward the road. They barely let her feet touch the ground as they hurried her to the paramedics, leaving Fritz to clean up the rest of the crime scene.

The paramedics wrapped a sheet around her as they checked her vitals.

"Rusty?" Sharon inquired, looking to Andy for answers.

"We left him with Tao back at the main command tent," Julio supplied the answer.

"I didn't want him out in the line of fire, if that's what it came to. I thought you'd prefer that Rusty be kept at least a little bit safe," Andy ventured, his eyes wandering over her badly abused body.

Blood stained the tee shirt under the flight suit even as the marks of the assault were beginning to rise across her face.

"Thank you," Sharon noted. "Ow!" she complained as one of the paramedics started an IV.

"I think you also have a concussion, Captain. Your eyes are dilated and not evenly responsive," the paramedic noted as she checked the pupilary response with a flashlight. "We'll get you back to civilization for the doctors to check the rest of you out." She turned her attention to the other paramedic, "Sal, I'll ride back here..."

Sharon cut her off, "We stop at the forest command post first, before the hospital. I need to have my son with me."

The paramedic shrugged, "You heard the Captain. Tell Jerry and Joe to stay here to see what else comes out that may need help."

"Don't worry Sharon, we'll call the coroner when we get to the command post," Andy reassured her.

"Coroner?"

"Yeah, that little punk that shot up the chopper and beat you is dead. We found him taking a dirt nap. Looked like he bled out, Ma'am. Nice knife work," Julio joined in flashing the bloody knife in an evidence bag. He nodded thoughtfully with the slightest of smiles crossing his usually impassive face.

"The chopper! Oh, Andy, Butch and Duncan are dead. We need to get their bodies down out of the tree. Butch was shot in the head, and Duncan took one in the chest," she sounded very sad. "And down the stream, they were growing pot in the forest. The trees concealed it from the air. It's why we were shot at. One of them shot at me but died in return fire. You'll need my weapon. I need to make an official statement..."

"It's okay, we knew that when the drone got a good look at it. No worrying about that right now," Andy leaned closer to her and touched her cheek with his hand. "Let's get you reunited with Rusty and to the docs. There'll be plenty of time to make a statement. It's gonna be my turn to take care of you for a change," he said with a wide grin. Sharon eased back into the pillow with a smile of her own.

That night, Sharon struggled to find a comfortable position to lie in the hospital bed. Andy talked his way into being allowed to stay, even after Sharon had sent all the others, including Rusty, home.

"Andy," she asked. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," he smiled. "Name it, Sweetheart."

She rolled over to face him, "Can you rub my back. I've got a kink between my shoulders that just won't..."

Andy got up and began to run his fingers across her back gently, looking for the tight spot even before she had finished speaking.

With a moan and grunt, "There," exclaimed Sharon, "that's the spot."

Andy massaged the spot with one hand while moving Sharon's hair out of the way. As he worked out the tight muscles, he leaned over and kissed her neck tenderly and rubbed her ear with his nose.

"I love you," he whispered. "All I want to do is lie right next to you and hold you."

"Just pull up the bedrail so we don't roll out over night," she chuckled and scooted to the edge to make room.

Andy pulled the rails up as he tucked himself behind her. He slipped an arm under Sharon and cradled her close to himself.

"Sharon," he began, "will you marry me?"

"Of course, I will," she whispered back.

Andy took the ring he wore on his pinky and slid it onto her hand, "I'll get you a proper ring once this is all wrapped up."

The metal was warm against her skin, "This will do nicely." She curled her arm around his.

It did not take long for them both to fall sound asleep. The nursing assistant came in to take Sharon's vital signs and smiled broadly when she found Andy on top of the covers holding onto Sharon for dear life. The assistant found a sheet and threw it over Andy.

This was how Provenza found them the next morning, curled up together, Andy's arms wrapped protectively around Sharon.

"Flynn!" he blurted out. "Flynn, what the hell are you doing in the Captain's bed?"

"Keeping me warm," came the answer from under the covers as Andy's head popped up at the sound of the question and answer.

"What time is it anyway?" Andy yawned and noted the sheet thrown over him.

"Time for you to clean up and get to work," teased Provenza.

"You gonna be okay, Sharon?" Andy asked as he rolled out of the bed once Provenza dropped the rails on his side.

Rusty popped in, "Mom! Andy, Lieutenant?"

"Just one big happy family," Provenza replied sarcastically.

They looked at one another until Sharon broke the tension with laughter.

"The nurse said she thought you'd get to go home later today," Rusty finally added. "I thought I'd take you home."

Provenza grabbed Andy, "Come on, Flynn. You can see the Captain when she gets home. Let the kid have some time with her."

He dragged his best friend into the hall, "Now you can tell me all about how you proposed to the Captain..." was what Rusty heard as they left.

"Proposed?"

Sharon elevated the bed, "Yes. Andy and I are going to get married. Try not to let that gross you out too much," she laughed.

"I was just wondering how long it would take you two to figure that out! It's not like you were not already an old married couple anyway," Rusty teased.


End file.
